


Touchingly Loyal

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Communication Failure, M/M, Massage, Military Fetish, Misunderstandings, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For thescienceofjohnlock. The prompt was "Johnlock with an awkward and/or sexually oblivious Sherlock", and I'm pretty sure this fits the bill.</p><p>John wants more intimacy. Sherlock agrees. There is a misunderstanding.</p><p>Rated X/NC-17 for sexual situations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touchingly Loyal

It started with a very vague instruction. "Come here, John."

John stepped closer and soon found himself being pushed back against the wall. The long fingers of Sherlock's hands curled around John's shoulder and bicep. Sherlock manipulated his body gently, positioning him.

John was wearing what he was rather sure amounted to the single most stupid expression he'd ever worn, but he couldn't help it. Sherlock was so close, so determined, and he had no idea what was going on. But he liked it.

"Wh-...Sherlock??" He blinked up at him, feeling transfixed by the line of that mouth as it flexed minutely according to Sherlock's changing thoughts.

"He was your height, remember?" Sherlock finally murmured as a reminder.

RIGHT.

Right. Oh, shit, the murderer. Right! He had been short, hadn't he? Yes, it made so much _sense_. Of course that was what, ah. Of course that was what was going on!

"Alright, John?" asked Sherlock, suddenly looking slightly uncertain.

"You should probably ask before you turn your best friend into a puppet," John pointed out, mouth gone mysteriously dry. "Actually, there's not really any 'probably' about it," he added.

Sherlock glanced at the placement of his hands for a moment. "Oh." He let go gracefully, taking a step back. "John, may I—"

"Go on," John said faintly, then smirked. "I mean, what's the point in stopping now, if I'm already up against the wall and everything."  

Replacing his hands, Sherlock started rattling off some facts about the murder and about the average height of men, looking far away again, barely noticing John.

John was relieved. It was good it hadn't meant more. Really! It was one thing to fantasize, but things would never work, not in the real world.

John licked his lips and stared at Sherlock hungrily, secretly hoping he'd notice.

***

"Sherlock!" John complained. "You _really_ need to stop fidgeting." 

Sherlock snarled. "I'd like to see you try!" he huffed, head settling against John's thigh. He still hadn't explained exactly what he'd been doing to get little pieces of glass in the side of his temple, probably wouldn't explain because he liked to stay mysterious, but John was tweezing them out for him anyway. Sherlock's head was in his lap, though, so the huffing and squirming was more than a bit not good. Or, well, it was _good_ , just not wise.

Sherlock huffed again, readjusted his head, and curled his hand around John's hip in a demanding gesture, sending a veritable tingle all along John's spine. "Come, John. _Finish_ ," he urged, breathless from pain and adrenaline.

John sat stock still for a moment before reaching down and adjusting the position of Sherlock's head, ignoring the silk-and-sweat feeling of his hair, the fact he could swear he could feel Sherlock's beautiful damn cheekbone through pale skin, could feel the movement of his face, the heat of him, and John hadn't had anyone for so long, and he knew Sherlock knew. Sherlock teased him about it, the bastard. John wished it had been flirting and not mockery.

When John pulled the remaining bits of glass out, Sherlock immediately sprang up to check on the fingers in the crisper drawer, rambling about something to do with fungus, and John jammed a knuckle between his teeth to muffle a shuddery exhale while Sherlock had his back turned. This was becoming a problem.

***

Sherlock was storming out of his room to go find his laptop when, all of a sudden, he stepped on his sheet and tripped forward. John was about to have a laugh at the way the haughty expression gave way to one of shock and dismay, but when Sherlock sat up, he held his mouth and produced a pathetic moan and John didn't have the heart. He'd bitten his tongue, John realized. John didn't waste any time in helping him to his feet and over to the chair, but the sheet ended up getting left behind.

"It'll be okay," John said as he checked inside Sherlock's mouth. Despite Sherlock having the ability to cut men down with that attractive mouth, it was definitely as wet and inviting as a mouth should be. John knew he was a sick man for the thought, but at least Sherlock's abilities didn't extend to reading minds. 

"Press the part that's bleeding against your mouth, alright?" he said gently. "I'll go and get your mouthwash."

As Sherlock rinsed out his mouth, he still seemed a bit too distracted to notice his state of undress. John started to notice, though, when Sherlock returned to sit down. 

John acknowledged that there was something really wrong with him if he was contemplating trying to steal glances at a time like that. He also acknowledged that maybe coming to Sherlock's aid allowed him a peek.

He decided it didn't, actually, doing his best to avoid looking at Sherlock's groin, just as he'd avoided looking at Irene Adler. He wondered for a long time if he should say something about the sheet. He started then stopped nearly a dozen times.

What if Sherlock was meaning for him to look? Even just as an ego boost. What was the point of the nudity, what was the motive? John gave up and sighed.

"Something wrong?" Sherlock asked, glancing over.

"Well, there's the fact you're naked," John pointed out a bit tetchily.

Sherlock frowned even more, looking very confused. "Does that matter?" 

"While nudity is actually in the dress code for certain activities, I don't think that includes watching telly where anyone could see you," John explained with a hint of a forced smile. He did his best not to imagine someone bursting into the flat and drawing the wrong conclusions. The right conclusions?

Sherlock parsed this for a moment, then eyed John suspiciously.

"Unless you like to give out strange signals."

"Do you want me to get my sheet?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Even you have to admit it's a bit rude, Sherlock." John wondered if Sherlock would get it himself or leave the task to John. He wouldn't mind the sight of Sherlock walking away like he'd not had a chance to see in Buckingham Palace. 

Sherlock quirked his lip. "You sound like Mrs Hudson." And...John instantly felt guilty for his wandering mind. Surely Mrs Hudson, who did, after all, find John attractive enough to have actually pinched his bum when she'd had a bit to drink, would never stoop to wanting peeks at her sweet Sherlock, a man who practically equated to the son she never had. 

And Sherlock was supposed to be above sex or something, wasn't he? Or was he?

"Alright."

"Alright?" asked John a bit dumbly.

"Go get my sheet."

John swiftly crossed the room to retrieve it, using the moment he'd turned away to swallow and try and ignore thoughts about whether or not Sherlock was a sexual being. He curled his fingers into the cool cloth, using the pretense of rolling it into a bit of a ball so as not to drag it across the floor to sneak a smell, which was decidedly creepy, but he was still glad he'd done it. He was...slightly too glad, oddly aroused by the possibility Sherlock had seen right through him.

When he handed the sheet over, Sherlock tucked it in around himself easily. "Can we finish our programme now, John? Am I up to the dress code?" he demanded with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, you sod," John said with amusement, then added a bit boldly, "Not that it bothered me much, but I'm supposed to teach you what's right and wrong."

"Oh, is that what you're supposed to do?" Sherlock raised a brow. "I think there may be areas where you fall short," he said, and smirked when John licked his lips, squirmed, and looked away. Yes, perhaps it wasn't exactly "right" to want to ogle your poor, slightly-injured flatmate, or to smell his sheets.

***

In his prolonged exposure to the scent of Sherlock, the way his buttons strained, and to his own loneliness, John started to think that Sherlock might indeed have been flirting, might have been waiting for him to make a move. The wall thing, the let-me-put-my-head-on-your-lap thing, the whoops-there-goes-my-sheet-just-leave-it-there thing couldn't all have been coincidences, could they?

And then what about the way Sherlock had made tea the other night, and not even as a peace offering? Was it a sign that Sherlock was trying to get closer to him? John tried to flirt to find out. 

"Don't stay up all night. At least, not on a case," didn't get him anywhere.

Neither did, "That shirt really suits you. You should wear that color more often."

Neither did, "You're looking fit."

Neither did, "Work's great and all, but isn't it about time you started dating?"

John contemplated stealing Sherlock's sheet so he'd have to walk around naked. He didn't do it, of course, because that would've been very rude and it crossed a lot of boundaries and, plus, it wasn't even very sane.

Thinking he was bound to go mad if he didn't get some sort of a second opinion, John took Mike out for a drink. It was Mike who suggested simply being honest with Sherlock instead of hiding behind ambiguously flirtatious statements. John wasn't actually very good at the whole quiet honesty thing. Flirtation was his forte. Mike noted the nervous expression on John's face.

"This isn't a stranger at a pub, John. This is Sherlock. He's not going to just leave you cold. Worst case, he gets awkward about things, but things are already awkward, right?"

Bravely, John nodded. "Well, what do I say?" he asked. "I don't even know where to start."

Mike shrugged. "Give your side of things. Be clear, but don't scare him off. You know he isn't used to this sort of thing."

"Right. And...how do I do that?" John swallowed.

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure," Mike encouraged. "I've got faith in you."

To be fair, Mike had faith in a lot of things.

***

"Sherlock?" John hesitated for a moment until Sherlock looked up from his microscope.

"Yes, John?" 

"I," John cleared his throat, ignoring how Sherlock's shirt brought out the colors in his eyes. "I've been wondering if you'd like to...increase our level of intimacy?"

Sherlock sighed in relief. "So this is it, is it? Is this all you've been on about?"

"Yes," John confirmed quietly, with no slight amount of nerves. Sherlock rose to his feet, and John actually took a step back. He could just imagine it, the cutting down, the rejection, the humiliation so thick he'd feel the need to leave Baker Street. But he wouldn't leave, of course. He'd soldier on, honor their agreement, stick around because he'd already devoted so much of himself to the odd man who was...who was embracing him!

It was an awkward embrace, but John was too stunned, too scared to care, and Sherlock said, "I thought...well, never mind what I thought. But, I value your input, not to mention your companionship. So, more intimacy it is." He gave John a bit of an awkward pat on the back. "Glad to know what's been troubling you," he added, sitting back down as quickly as he'd stood.

John wasn't actually much of a hugger usually, but he'd relaxed into the embrace soon enough. "Well, that was...nice," he admitted. "Er, well done, Sherlock."

Sherlock shrugged, adjusting the focus on the microscope. "I kiss and hug Mrs Hudson all the time," he reminded John. "No reason I can't do the same for you."

"Well, it won't be exactly the same," John joked, chuckling at the image of Sherlock flirting with Mrs Hudson. Just, no. They weren't like that. He eyed Sherlock's focused form, admiring how well he pulled off those tight-fitting shirts of his. He'd felt so warm and strong and somehow delicate to hold when they'd been close.

"No, not exactly," Sherlock said with a bit of a smirk. "You know, John, you really don't strike me as the type for intimacy," he added.

"You should talk to my exes," John quipped. 

Sherlock paused, then said with confusion, "I did."

John shifted awkwardly on his feet, crossing his arms. As he imagined what secrets they possibly could have shared, his tone of voice grew cold. "You...you asked them about our...our habits, Sherlock?"

"They said you weren't much of a hugger," Sherlock replied. "And even after this trial, I'd have to agree. You were stiff in my arms. We'll do it again sometime. It's not a big deal. Lestrade's a hugger, and no one casts aspersions about his masculinity."

"Wh-what?" John flushed, feeling exposed, feeling seen, liking it but hating Sherlock's level of invasion at the same time. 

"Nothing to be embarrassed about," Sherlock said kindly.

John stared at his friend, who was still gazing into the eyepiece of the microscope.

"You're dismissed, John," Sherlock said. "I'm finding it hard to concentrate."

Honestly? So was John.

***

John tried to gradually increase the intimacy, and Sherlock seemed to be right on board. When John reached over during movie night and tugged Sherlock closer on the sofa, Sherlock made a sweet, agreeable little noise and held onto John, resting his head on John's shoulder. 

He was so close, his dark hair soft as John dared to reach up and play with it a bit. John sighed deeply. He could smell Sherlock! He had so much power, really, feeling Sherlock relax in his arms. He'd never witnessed Sherlock so relaxed with another person. Perhaps...perhaps he could get himself a snog in a bit?

Ah. Or perhaps not. The playing caused Sherlock to fall asleep, which touched John's heart. He shifted Sherlock into a more comfortable position for himself, daring to press a kiss to Sherlock's temple. He held Sherlock right up until the film's climax, where the gunshots on the screen woke Sherlock easily.

***

Sherlock took the last bag of groceries from John to start setting the items out, pausing to impulsively embrace John with one arm. 

"What was that for?" John asked.

Sherlock flushed a bit. "It seemed...wanted."

"It was," John admitted. "Definitely." The two of them shared an awkward smile.

As Sherlock started to leave John to finish the groceries, John cleared his throat, and Sherlock paused. John said, "We could do the thing properly." He saw the line of Sherlock's shoulders relax, and Sherlock whirled around. 

"If you insist, John." And they embraced, and it lasted perhaps longer than it should have, but neither of them seemed to mind much. "So," Sherlock said, resting his cheek against John's temple, "you do like this, then?"

"Yes," John said softly, trying to soak in the moment. His cautious, still-only-by-supreme-effort fingertips could feel the play of muscles in Sherlock's back. They wanted more, but he had to behave himself. "Sh-Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"What would. Er." John paused, took a deep breath, damned himself thrice, started to shake his head but decided to settle for nuzzling into Sherlock a bit. Sherlock stiffened slightly, then relaxed again. "What would you say to moving this...intimacy...to the bedroom?" he blurted out.

Oh. This wasn't going to end well, was it? This was the rejection part of it. Sherlock must have changed his mind, or maybe he was afraid of having sex, or maybe...well, maybe he just didn't like John enough to give it a go. Maybe he never really had. Maybe he'd been manipulating John.

"Okay," Sherlock said softly, then started to pull away. John found himself trying to follow, but chewed at his lip and stood his ground instead, watching Sherlock start to walk away.

"Did you go get those biscuits from Mrs Hudson like I asked?" Sherlock called, sounding oddly subdued.

"Hm? What?"

"Never mind. I'll be back," Sherlock said, and John stood around for a moment before stalking toward the groceries and quickly putting them away. He hesitated in the kitchen before deciding that waiting in his room was what he was supposed to be doing. Wait, no, his room or Sherlock's?

His room. What if...what if Sherlock thought he meant later and not now? Could be a bit embarrassing. But no, Sherlock had to know that he'd have gotten John excited, yeah? He had to! Right?

Oh hell. John hurried up to his room, contemplating what clothing to remove. Even removing his jumper seemed too forward, and he finally decided to just take his shoes off and lie on the bed. 

John turned, trying to find the most sensual position without looking ridiculous. He tried lying on his side as if he were a much more handsome man trying to model. Then, he curled up a bit but that felt childlike. Sitting on the edge of the bed seemed fitting enough, but he soon realized it just wasn't very sexy.

He sighed and lay flat on his back, doing his best to ignore the effect the wait was having on him. 

After an hour with no sign of Sherlock, John sighed and gave it up as a loss. Sherlock had said yes, after all. That was enough progress for the day.

***

John woke in the middle of the night to an arm around him. Startled at the distinctly male presence, he elbowed the man in the chest, rolled forward, reached under his pillow for a knife that wasn't there, flipped on the lamp, and turned to stare at his wheezing flatmate.

"Jesus! Oh. Oh fuck, Sherlock." He put a hand over his mouth shakily. "Are you? Sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock, coughing a bit, waved a hand in dismissal.

"I expected you hours ago," John said. "Not at," he checked the clock, "ten past three!"

Sherlock struggled into a seated position. "I only did what you asked," he said, voice rough. 

"What I wanted would have been...oh, never mind," John said, shaking his head. He sighed, seating himself on the bed next to Sherlock. "This is ridiculous," he pointed out.

Sherlock grinned, and John, after trying his best to scowl, had to grin too. 

"Well, obviously I need some warning before I find a man spooned up behind me."

"I wasn't _spooned_ ," Sherlock said, hurt and rather annoyed.

John chuckled. "Okay, fine. Whatever you want to call it, don't surprise me like that again. What were you even doing?"

Sherlock bowed his head slightly. "I was...I thought you meant that you'd like help if you had a nightmare."

"Oh." John chuckled slightly in surprise. "No. No, that wasn't what I meant. You have to let me know."

"Noted," said Sherlock. 

John looked at Sherlock, contemplating whether he should invite him to stay. After all, he'd come all the way up the stairs. He was in his pyjamas, lying there like he belonged. Secretly, John thought he did belong. 

"I'll show myself out?" Sherlock asked, getting out of the bed, lacking a little of his usual grace. 

"You don't have to," John said.

Sherlock shrugged. "If I hear you having a fit, which, admittedly doesn't happen often," he assured, "then I'll just come back up. Is that alright?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! It's not any trouble," Sherlock promised. Just as John was smiling shyly, he explained, "Your performance as my assistant takes a turn for the worst if you haven't gotten your rest." He was out the door before John could form a protest.

*** 

Chasing the suspect went well except that John really pulled his shoulder. He came home grumbling about it, trying to ice it.

"You need to do better than that. That's not going to help," Sherlock said bluntly.

John scowled and asked, "Do you have a better idea, then?"

"Yes." Sherlock paused for dramatic effect, waited until John looked hungry for the answer. "What you need...is a massage."

"Are you offering?" John challenged, trying to imagine how much he'd have to shell out to get one from a professional. A massage did sound nice.

"Obviously."

John stared at him, certainly not having expected that. "Come again?"

"Let me work at it. It's the least I can do. It _is_ my fault, technically. So, I'll go and fix it." John just kept staring, making Sherlock feel slightly uncomfortable. "Then, we'll be square," he added quietly.

"Maybe it's not such a good idea, Sherlock."

"I know what I'm doing," Sherlock said quickly, eyes narrowing. "Do you think I'd offer if I couldn't do it? I know an awful lot about the human body, John. Its forms, its functions, how best to tense it up and to relax it. All incredibly useful stuff."

John blatantly licked his lips, trying hard not to imagine too many details. The details would come in time. Hopefully, so would John, though perhaps not quite yet. But...maybe just yet. It was possible, just slightly possible, that Sherlock really was implying things. God, John hoped so.

"So, er, where do you want me?" John teased, despite a bit of nerves.

"Your bed should suffice. We'll have you sit at first, and then you'll lie on your front. Does that sound agreeable?"

"Yes," John said boldly. 

"You'll have to tell me if it hurts, you know."

"Of course," John said, taking slight offense. Of course he knew that.

"Okay, then."

"Okay."

They sat in silence for a moment before Sherlock said, "It's your room. Lead the way."

"Right." 

***

John removed his jumper and his shoes, fingers hesitating on the buttons of his shirt. "Should I—?"

"Yes, of course," Sherlock said expectantly, watching him.

"Okay."

Actually, John realized as he sat on the edge of the bed and Sherlock worked at his shoulder, Sherlock really wasn't too bad. True that John didn't usually like embraces or massages or what-have-you, but he trusted Sherlock. Sherlock may have had the power to manipulate, and he may have felt it was okay to terrify and upset people in the name of a case, and he may have felt it was alright to insult people for little to no reason, but there was something steadfastly moral in Sherlock that John couldn't ignore, even if the rest of the world seemed to be able to.

Everything with Sherlock was different. John felt it was okay to let his guard down a little, to not have to always be on top of things. Sherlock listened to him, mostly, and he listened to Sherlock, and they'd become a steadfast "them" at some point, and it worked.

And Sherlock's fingers were working. John's head lolled forward. "Not bad," he commented. "Not bad."

"A bit better than not bad," Sherlock said. His fingers continued their admittedly masterful work, digging in, releasing, pressing, moving like they knew what John was feeling, and they likely did. John groaned slightly, shifting a bit, leaning back into the touch. Sherlock turned him just slightly so he could get at the front better.

"Really not bad, then," John said breathlessly, trying to ignore the tingles running up and down his spine, trying to ignore that Sherlock was having an effect on him yet again.

"All the time I've bothered you to get a look at this scar, and this was all it took to convince you," Sherlock said with amusement. John shivered.

Actually, that was true. John hadn't even noticed the fact Sherlock was finally getting a glimpse at the old war wound. He didn't even care, now.

Sherlock paused for a moment, and John turned to look at him questioningly. Sherlock chuckled and said, "Nothing to worry about, John," and John thought he just meant "never mind" for a moment, but then he realized Sherlock glanced at his crotch, and he just felt like pulling away from his arrogant touch and going to cool down.

"It really isn't," Sherlock pointed out carefully. "Really. Only, you'll be comfortable when you shift positions, won't you?" he said with slight concern.

John swallowed against guilt and nerves. "Look, can we just get this over with?"

"You've tensed up," Sherlock said softly. "I'm...I mean, I wasn't. Look, just lie on your front and we'll finish this," he said, color spotting those defined cheeks.

Sherlock's hands were strong, the fingers long, the movements precise. In this position, John had an even harder time ignoring the melting and tingling and sparking his body was being put through by those hands, and by the time Sherlock was finished with John, John was trying not to get too friendly with the mattress.

"You groan quite a bit, did you know?" Sherlock said with a hint of interest. John couldn't help but groan once more.

Sherlock's fingers lingered slightly, drawing little lines down his back. "I never realized how tense you are," he commented.

John bit his lip. "You know, Sherlock," he said, feeling utterly breathless and stupid. "If you wanted, we could take things...a bit further."

"Mm? Sure," Sherlock said easily.

So it really was that simple. That's all he had to do, all this time, just ask.

John took in a deep breath through his nose, and let it out, feeling Sherlock start to work his magic hands on his back, the sensation curling up his spine. He knew he was no longer his own man, not at the moment, not when _those hands_ were claiming his bare back. 

"Your back is pale. I'd forgotten it would be," Sherlock commented.

John groaned, wondering how often Sherlock had imagined his back.

"Still comfortable? Relatively, anyway?"

"Ghnn," John muttered.

"Unfasten your trousers a bit," Sherlock said, "Just so we can shift them down."

John's eyes were wide open then. He blinked, suddenly alert. But, after a moment of thought, he relaxed again, shifting to his knees slightly so he could reach the button of his trousers. He bit his lip, closing his eyes as he felt Sherlock help to tug the trousers down to expose a few more centimeters of bare back.

"You're sure you're comfortable with this?" Sherlock commented.

"Yes," John gasped out.

With a hint of amusement in the tone, Sherlock said, "Patience, John." He eased John back onto the bed and started to work on John's lower back, daring to go just a bit lower on his way down, easing tension John had no idea he was carrying.

Finally, the massaging stopped. John licked his lips, took in a deep shuddery breath, and felt Sherlock run a hand over the shoulder again, then give him a pat on the back. "Satisfied, John?" Sherlock asked.

John groaned, trying to get his tongue to work in order to shoot some flirtatious line back at Sherlock, but before he had a chance, Sherlock had actually stood up.

And then Sherlock had actually left the room.

John blinked, slowly rolling onto his side. He looked around. Light on, room rather bare, and definitely feeling more empty than usual now that Sherlock had left, good old talented, warm Sherlock.

John had the erection from hell, and Sherlock had just left him alone with it. "Sherlock?" he called. "Damn. Sherlock?!" he repeated, a little louder. He fumbled with his trousers to try and find his phone, reaching down and palming himself with a cry of relief, rubbing himself a bit before texting Sherlock to ask him if he was still in.

He wasn't. John let out a shout of frustration. "Dammit, Sherlock," he said to the empty room. He shuddered as he reached down and took hold of himself. "Ohhh. You're gonna get it," he warned a Sherlock who wasn't there.

***

"That was a bit rude last night, Sherlock," John told him over breakfast. 

Sherlock looked confused.

"Where did you go, anyway?"

"Ah. I remember you texting me. Did you have more trouble with your shoulder, John?" Sherlock asked with a bit of concern. John tried to read his expression, tried to see whether he was having him on, but...he didn't seem to be.

"Do you even know what I'm talking about?" John asked.

Sherlock slowly shook his head. "No," he admitted. 

"Playing hard to get, are we?" John grumbled.

"What?!"

John sighed and got up to get his coat. "We'll talk about this later, I suppose."

"Probably. John, what's this about?"

But John was already on his way out the door. "Later."

***

John came home to see Sherlock wriggling out of his tight trousers and cursing. Perfect timing. Almost...too perfect.

"Sherlock?!"

Sherlock turned a bit, looking over his shoulder. "Experiment gone wrong," he complained, standing there in his tight shirt and his pants. Nice quality pants, actually. They looked like they'd be soft to the touch.

NO. No, no, this was going to be an evening of John turning the tables, not of more of the same. But...oh.

"Need any help?" John teased.

"Yes, actually," Sherlock said, and John stepped over. Sherlock leaned against him to wriggle out of his trousers, and John curled his hand around Sherlock's waist to help steady him. Oh. Sherlock was warmer than he'd expected here, his skin softer than the pants by incalculable degrees. John wondered if Sherlock would need an emergency shower; that had happened before. Maybe he could help! To be honest, that had happened before too.

"I don't think it reached me through the fabric," Sherlock explained with a sigh of relief.

The memory of the way Sherlock's hair sort of deflated when it got wet, making him seem smaller, somehow more manageable, the glow of him when he'd been scrubbed clean, like he was actually human underneath, the way he looked wrapped in his towel afterward, quiet and grateful.

"Too bad," John said, and Sherlock stared at him for a moment, almost looking a bit offended. "Too bad about your trousers," John said smoothly. "What'd you think I meant?" he smirked.

"...Wouldn't know," said Sherlock, moving on. "I'll have to bin them." A little frown appeared on his face that John was tempted to kiss away. Actually, kissing wasn't something they'd explored yet, was it? Maybe after all this got sorted and Sherlock was in trousers again.

"You're safe, though," John pointed out, fingertips slightly stroking the hem of the silky shirt, the waistband of the expensive pants, and the bare bit of skin in between. God, Sherlock felt good, and he belonged to John now like this, didn't he? Just like John had belonged to him during the massage.

Sherlock, eyes still narrowed, brow furrowed, asked, "Is there a reason you're _caressing_ my skin, John?"

John let go quickly, taking a step away. "Not really, no," he admitted. 

"Okay," Sherlock said, still looking confused. 

John understood; Sherlock wasn't in the mood. To be fair, if John's trousers had got hit with some sort of dangerous experiment, he probably wouldn't have been in the mood either.

"I think I'll shower off just in case," Sherlock decisively said, folding up his trousers and binning them with a slight look of disappointment.

"I could join you," John said.

Sherlock blinked over at him, tilted his head. "Thanks for the offer, but you don't need to worry," he said. "I can more than take care of myself."

"If you change your mind, let me know," John said carefully as Sherlock started to turn away.

"I'm sure I've got a good grip on this situation," Sherlock said airily, seeming to...was he swaying his hips? Was he?? 

"Oh wait," Sherlock said, pausing on his way toward the shower. "If you want a shower before you go to the shop, you'll have to use my shampoo. Yours was lost to science."

John blinked, trying to figure that one out for a moment. Sherlock was gone by the time he lamely said, "Fine. It was cheap anyway." No doubt Sherlock knew exactly how cheap it had been.

Yeah, he'd probably take a shower before the next time he went to the shop. That was a bit intimate, wasn't it, sharing shampoo? He was going to smell like Sherlock. His expensive shampoo, the way it suited him, oh. John smiled slightly to himself, then pictured Sherlock, er, taking care of himself in the shower.

More than take care of himself, was what he'd said. "Grip" on the situation, he'd said. Had he meant...? 

No, he hadn't.

But?

No, no, bad John. Just because Sherlock's skin was soft to the touch, just because he'd stroked it and Sherlock had taken notice and now Sherlock was taking a shower he probably didn't need to take, that didn't mean Sherlock was getting hot.

But to say "more than take care of myself" and then to say "grip on the situation". And Sherlock absolutely knew John had had a massive erection the night before just from a _massage_.

But, if Sherlock wanted John, if he wanted him enough to stroke one off in the shower after the heightened danger from the experiment and John's loving caress of his hip, surely Sherlock knew it was fine if he was getting hot over John, even more than fine. They were trying to work their way up to sex, after all, slow-going as it had been.

John found himself enjoying the thought of Sherlock too much, all thanks to Sherlock again, though this time to fantasy and not to physical sensation. Gay, this is so gay, he thought as he made his way to his room.

He'd just have to make Sherlock pay somehow, would have to try and turn him on enough to snap his much-loved control. It was only fair.

***

What did Sherlock even like? John found he didn't quite know. Or maybe it was something untoward. 

"Mike, answer me this, and I'm asking seriously: Do you think Sherlock is turned on by the thought of dead bodies?" After he asked, he had a sinking feeling of regret. What if Mike said yes? What would he do, lie still on Sherlock's bed, maybe put a bit of ketchup on his face?

"No. It's the crime itself he's interested in, John, not the body, unless I'm wrong. But you had that, ah, rabbit case, remember? Nothing to do with a body there."

"You're right. Ignore me. Just...freaking out."

"Why?"

"Because...because we haven't actually done anything yet," John admitted with a hint of regret.

"Ah," Mike said thoughtfully. "Well, good luck, John. But please, leave me out of it in future, especially if we haven't been drinking. Come to think of it, that's an order," he joked, but John raised a brow.

"You're brilliant, Mike."

"Yes, I am. What for?" he asked, but John simply hung up.

***

John came down the stairs, the sound of his shoes and his gait causing Sherlock to look up. Sherlock blinked. "Alright. I give up. What's this about?"

John swaggered toward him a bit.

"Why are you in uniform?" Sherlock asked.

"Why aren't you?"

"John?"

"Cadet Holmes. You may have a big ego, but you need to refer to me as Captain. I wouldn't push me, if I were you. You remember what happened last time."

Sherlock sat straight up. "Yes, sir," he finally said, looking slightly confused. "John...I mean...Captain...what are you doing?"

"Stand up, Cadet. That's an order. And I'm going to need you to strip." John licked his lips in nervousness, hoping he wasn't embarrassing himself already.

"What...?" Sherlock huffed out a breath and stood, starting to unbutton his tight shirt. "Is this some kind of weird check up?"

"Hm, I guess you could say that. I'll do my best to be thorough. Stand up straight, soldier. Focus."

Sherlock parted his shirt, looking up at John questioningly. 

"Well done, Cadet." He held out his hand for Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock blinked at the hand, cautiously pulled the hanging shirt off one arm at a time, and handed it over. John folded it easily, placing it on the table. He crossed his arms. "Did I say you get to stop at your shirt?"

Sherlock tilted his head. "John, why are...I mean. What's happening here? Explain."

"You should understand full well, soldier, after you left me with an impressive erection last night," John said boldly, trying to gauge Sherlock's reaction. Surely that'd go over well, yeah? Sherlock had known about it, even acknowledged it.

Sherlock's eyes widened to comical levels and he stared at John and just sort of froze.

OH 

GOD.

No, tell him it wasn't...wasn't actually a surprise to Sherlock! No, Sherlock had to know, didn't he?

Perhaps John had _miscalculated_.

No no no no. "Sherlock?" John said softly. "Sherlock, have I...have I got it wrong?"

Sherlock sort of crossed his arms over his bare chest and furrowed his brow. "I don't understand," he said. "You were embarrassed of it when it happened. Why do you suddenly desire to become sexually aroused again in my presence?"

"Because," John said awkwardly, "I mean...we have to become aroused in each other's presence if we're going to have sex, don't we?"

Sherlock sat down heavily in his chair, staring up at John. 

"Don't we?" John repeated with a hint of desperation, trying to understand.

Sherlock looked away to collect himself, steepling his fingers in thought. Finally, he flicked his gaze back up to meet John's. "Who said we were going to have sex?"

John felt lightheaded all of a sudden. "But...." He took a few steps back, sinking into his own chair. "Sherlock, the cuddling, the massage, the...flirting?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Oh _god_ ," John said, staring at Sherlock in horror. "Oh. Oh _god._ "

"You've started to repeat yourself," Sherlock said with a hint of boredom.

"You mean to tell me that...that you never wanted us to...." John lifted a finger into the air, opened his mouth again, then just shook his head and rested his arm back on the arm of the chair. He covered his mouth with his hand because this wasn't happening.

This _was_ happening. And he was in uniform. And he'd ordered Sherlock about. 

"I think perhaps I should replace my shirt," Sherlock said quietly.

"Are you...are you serious?" John asked as Sherlock retrieved his shirt and began to put it back on. "This whole time, with...with the closeness, the...intimacy?"

"I thought you wanted hugging. Like Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said quietly. "This is...new."

John covered his face with his hand. "I am the world's worst flatmate."

"You're not," Sherlock said, causing John to look up at him. "Well," Sherlock murmured, "I mean...logically, you aren't. I know of plenty worse examples."

"I...Sherlock," John hissed, "I masturbated to the thought of you."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 

John ran his hand down his face, shaking his head again. "I really thought...I thought you wanted. Oh no."

"The way I see it, you've got nothing to worry about," Sherlock said, finishing up his buttons. "It's a misunderstanding."

"Well everything's perfectly clear now, isn't it, Sherlock?!" John snapped.

"Mm, not really, no," Sherlock said. "Because you see, while you were terribly unclear as to your original intentions, you're thinking I'm outright rejecting you."

"You are! God, you're gonna say, 'We can always still be friends, if I had friends,' or you're gonna say, 'What exactly did you fantasize about, John? Let me analyze this,' or you're gonna say, 'I'm flattered by your interest, but I consider myself married to my work,' and, Sherlock, I don't...I just can't," John huffed.

"You know what they say about assumptions, so stop being an arse," Sherlock said sharply, leaning forward a bit. "Shut up and listen to me, and stop getting so bent out of shape."

John wanted to hide. He just wanted to go curl up in bed and cry it out in the privacy of his own room.

"If you don't listen to me, I'll hack into your blog."

John calmed considerably, suddenly intrigued. "And say what, exactly?"

"And say you're horny for your flatmate," Sherlock challenged. "And that you're into roleplay."

John glared.

"I won't really," Sherlock soothed, expression softening. "Look, John. It's safe to say that you startled me just now. I hadn't realized your advances were that much more sexually-charged than our typical interactions. We're close; you know that. But as for whether I'd like to pursue something," he said with a bit of a pause where John swallowed visibly and hoped against hope, "the answer is yes," Sherlock finished.

John's stomach started to uncoil. "Yes, you said?"

"Yes, John. While I was trying to meet your needs purely as a friend and flatmate, I'm not averse to seeing how well the two of us could work together as a unit. Well, we already are a unit, just," he said, vaguely gesturing with his hands.

"I understand," John said, throat a bit dry. "No, I understand. We'll take it as slow as we need to. I'm sorry I wasn't as clear as I should have been. I completely figured we were on the same page. Bit of a coward's way out, not being more clear, but I'd thought we were just doing away with the formalities."

"I do hate formalities," Sherlock said with a quirk of his lip.

"I'll just...I'll just go get changed, shall I?" John said with a hint of a flush, not quite believing that he'd propositioned Sherlock in uniform.

"No, don't," Sherlock said suddenly. "You were right about that."

"What?"

"The in-charge thing does turn me on," Sherlock said, grinning at the stunned pleasure affecting John's features.

"Does this, ah, mean that," John started, then paused. "No, I'll let you say. What _does_ this mean?"

"Anything, really," Sherlock said, folding his hands together. "Taking it slow is fine, but we should probably at least reconvene to a bedroom, don't you think?"

"Yes. Probably wise," John said, trying not to get ahead of himself with imagining what the two of them could do together in bed. Taking it slow was key.

"I think I'd like to at least start with holding you close. Is that alright?"

"That," John choked, damning the rush of gratitude and adoration he was feeling for Sherlock, "would be alright, yes."

"Shoes off, of course, but leave the rest on, just for a bit. You know, you stand a bit taller in the uniform. Normally, you walk with confidence, but, just now, that was something else," Sherlock praised.

John melted, taking a steadying breath as Sherlock sprang up and headed for John's room. John followed behind.

***

The lamp was the only light source in the room, and somehow Sherlock just looked soft, just looked...cuddly. And he was.

"You don't do this much," Sherlock commented, stroking fingers along John's back through the shirt of his uniform.

"Says the man who doesn't date."

"I may have had less opportunity, but you're still the one who fears intimacy," Sherlock said with a shrug, leaning in to press a kiss to John's nose. 

As if to prove how wrong Sherlock was, John curled closer and nuzzled into Sherlock's chest, taking a deep breath. Sherlock's hand stroked his back more firmly. 

"Do I seem afraid right now?" John challenged.

"Yes," Sherlock said honestly.

John stiffened a bit, burying his face in Sherlock just a bit more. Sometimes he really hated Sherlock's honesty.

"But I like that I have the power to encourage you to be more adventurous."

"And cuddling is an adventure, is it?" John pulled back to look up at his flatmate in annoyance.

"Does this feel at all dull to you, John?" Sherlock asked in amusement.

"...No," John admitted.

Sherlock leaned in to brush his lips against John's. Pleasantly surprised, John reached out, cupping Sherlock's cheek. He couldn't take the intensity of Sherlock's gaze, so he closed his eyes, making himself relax into the kiss. He tried for more, flicked his tongue at the part of Sherlock's lips. Sherlock wasn't having it, though, and he pulled away with a teasing nip at John's bottom lip.

John sat up on his side, gazing at Sherlock questioningly. Sherlock's eyes lit up with mischief. He proceeded to kiss John slowly and then pull sensuously away in a mocking tease two more times.

"Sherlock," John sighed. "What are you doing?"

Sherlock grinned and leaned in to mouth at John's neck, chuckling against the skin.

John groaned, curling his fingers through Sherlock's hair and holding him in place. "You're not going to win this, you know," he said faintly. "I'm more experienced, right? And I'm in the uniform and all."

Sherlock pulled off of John's neck with a smacking sound, then nuzzled John's jaw, murmuring, "Might as well be wearing a jumper for all you're ordering me about."

John pulled away from Sherlock a bit to better see him. "Is that how you want things between us to be?" John asked cautiously.

Sherlock sighed heavily as if John were being boring. "Not every time, no," he explained. "This time, however, yes. Earlier you had no problem ordering me about, trying to seduce me out of my shirt."

John stared at Sherlock in wonder for a moment. So handsome, so _fun_. "Succeeded," John said after a moment. "Succeeded in seducing you."

Sherlock's eyes flashed at the amount of insight John had had about the situation, at the boldness. "Very good, John," he purred. Sherlock's large hand reached out, closing around John's.

John looked at their linked hands, wondering if Sherlock was getting a bit romantic about things.

"Would you like to feel the evidence?" Sherlock asked. John's heart fluttered and he bit his lip. Sherlock meant...meant the, uh, hard evidence, yes?

Sherlock was quirking his lip, was pulling John's hand to rest on his thigh. "Order me about a bit. See what it does to me." 

So this was what Sherlock flirting was like. John felt heat rise up from his toes. He cursed under his breath. 

"Quite a mouth you've got on you, John," Sherlock said with a smirk.

"What happened to taking it slow?" John asked, stroking his thumb over the fabric of Sherlock's trousers, licking his lips.

"That was your suggestion, John," Sherlock said with a smirk, "not mine."

"Well then, Cadet," John said firmly, "I believe we were at the part where you were stripping down. In a timely manner, if you please, or you know the consequences."

Sherlock was looking impressed with John, was looking rather taken with him. "Oh, do I? Well alright, Captain," he said, putting on his most innocent expression. "After all, I suppose I'm too weak from my healing wounds to protest much."

John raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock's face fell a bit, the innocent expression melting away. "Not sexy?" he asked.

"I'm...not sure," John said with a frown.

"That makes two of us," admitted Sherlock, looking a bit embarrassed.

John smiled and pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek. "It's okay," he said, then he pulled back and stared down at him with his in-charge expression in place again. "Your wounds are perfectly fine," he said with a hint of annoyance. "I heard you were out offering yourself to some of the boys, and that's why you're tired. They just can't get enough of you, can they? You're a hot young thing with a lovely mouth, and the thought of you moaning for it was what gave me that massive erection," he said, pressing said erection against Sherlock's thigh, impressing and captivating him.

"Finish stripping," he reminded. He let Sherlock start to finish unbuttoning the shirt as he trailed a finger up to the fastenings of Sherlock's trousers. "And explain to me why you think they can take care of you better than I can."

Sherlock really did bite his lip for a moment, the pretense of innocence falling away to reveal the raw innocence underneath. Much better, thought John.

"It's...it's all true, Captain," Sherlock said, playing along again. "I did sleep with them. What you don't know, however, is that I was," he took in a breath, "I was thinking of you. You tend to want women, a-and I knew if I had some practice, it would help my case." He looked away.

John raised an eyebrow. "This is all an act to get off easy, isn't it, Cadet? You don't want me to tell on you. You don't really care for me like that."

Sherlock grinned widely. "Well, you're wrong about how I care for you. You're my hero, Captain Watson. I admire you like I've admired far too few others in life." John swallowed at the heat in Sherlock's gaze. "But, you're right about the rest: I love to get off, and I _am_ easy." He grasped John's hand again and pressed it against his confined cock. John's mouth parted slightly, and he licked his lips, cupping, squeezing. He received a soft, open moan that impressed him and made him want more.

"You seem a little sensitive. I'd almost say virginal, but that's not true, is it? Can't be," John said a little roughly. "Sounds like you're a man of action, you pretty young thing." He reached for the fastenings of Sherlock's trousers.

"I lied," Sherlock groaned. "Captain, I wasn't with anyone last night. I spread the rumor. I wanted to make you...well." He let the thought hang.

"Spit it out," John said. "Don't make me have to work it out of you. You know I will, but I'm not going to be pleased." Sherlock gasped as John unfastened Sherlock's impossibly tight trousers and started to pull them down with a bit of help from Sherlock lifting his hips. 

"Jealous," Sherlock said quickly. "Did it make you jealous? Did...did the rumor help make you want me?" he asked breathlessly, glancing up at John. 

"I don't think you understand. I've always wanted you, Holmes." John leaned in and tugged at Sherlock's bottom lip with a scrape his teeth, nibbling it gently, coaxing it into a deeper state of red. He licked at the soft, swelling lip, then used his teeth again. His hand splayed out on Sherlock's groin area, near but not quite near enough to his pants-covered erection, like a promise he wasn't about to break.

Sherlock groaned and parted his mouth, shifting a bit more underneath John, encouraging him to take control. John fitted their mouths together, working his mouth along with Sherlock's, feeling the slight quiver of Sherlock's lips against his own. He rose up on his elbow more, glancing at Sherlock's dazzled face with its hooded eyes. "Do you believe me now?" he demanded in a heated whisper.

Sherlock moaned.

"It sounds to me like you do. I think it's time for your examination," John said, maintaining eye-contact as he slid the tight trousers and pants down with Sherlock's help. He took a moment to stare, and Sherlock stared at himself too, feeling himself pulse, seeing himself pulse.

Seeing Sherlock naked was one thing. Nudity was nudity. But now Sherlock was pink and plump and actively twitching with life, and John sighed out his appreciation.

"How's it look, Captain?" Sherlock asked, gazing at John with some uncertainty.

John smiled apologetically for staring and wrapped his hand around Sherlock in one smooth motion. Sherlock's eyes slipped closed, his mouth slipping open. "Obviously, it meets your approval," he said roughly, voice soft and somehow seeming off in the distance and yet also too real, too close.

"Hey, eyes on me, Holmes," John purred, loving the hazy look to Sherlock's eyes when he followed the orders, loving the way Sherlock blinked. "We were going to have a routine check up, Cadet," he said, rubbing his thumb along the underside and causing Sherlock to shift his hips pleasantly, "but you ruined things by getting hard. Do you know just how inappropriate this is?" he complained, raising his voice, pleased when Sherlock shivered because of it.

John kissed the palm of his hand and lowered it, rubbing the waiting wetness at the tip over the head in small circles that lingered, categorizing every shift in Sherlock's expression, the patterns in the shuddering breath. Releasing Sherlock to a groan from the man, he sat back on his heels and murmured, "Cadet Holmes?", making sure Sherlock's attention was on him and him alone. "You have to touch yourself. You have to bring yourself off. That's an order. And I won't be denied."

Lust flashed through Sherlock's eyes, and he slipped his arms out of his shirt before curling his hand around himself and sighing, staring up at John. "Like this?"

"Mm. Yes, that's right. Slow, and don't be afraid to show off. Look how gorgeous you are, and so ready for it. Make it even harder," encouraged John. John moved, no longer positioned above Sherlock, fumbling through the night stand. "But, here, let me get something to help you."

The lube was cold in his palm, and in his impatience he slicked it over Sherlock, watching his eyes widen and his hips jerk. 

"Won't you join me, Captain?" Sherlock begged, and John found he should, he really should, so he reached down and fumbled to get his own trousers open, to lower them, pants too. He added more lube to his palm, glancing down as he tried to mirror some of Sherlock's movements.

"You're so gorgeous," John enthused, the slick sounds of their movements, the feeling of his own pulsing, the twists of his hand so familiar yet somehow charged up by Sherlock's presence and gaze, the knowledge they were watching each other do such a thing all driving him on. 

Sherlock suddenly reached out with both hands and grasped John's free one, pulling it toward him, wordlessly pleading with John as he coaxed the fingers to curl around him. John gave him a good squeeze, making sure he knew he didn't have to plead for that kind of attention.

John thrilled at the idea of how much he was wanted, at how much he was needed as they neared the end. He eyed Sherlock's wriggling, his rocking hips, his bare, pale torso that contrasted with the silky maroon shirt sticking to his sweat-lined back in patches.

And Sherlock reached for John, and John groaned and let him, shifting closer to be more in reach, and oh wow, he was _enveloped_ by that large hand, those clever fingers, and he feared he wouldn't last much longer, but knew he'd have to outlast Sherlock.

Sherlock's hips hitched and his breath did too, and then he moaned and spilled out in imperfect spurts onto that pale torso with John's help, and he chanted John's name under his breath in lust and elation, and John just stared and swallowed and wondered at his fortune before Sherlock's hand renewed its vigor and brought John along for the ride, pulled him into release too, and John shuddered and sighed out his orgasm with adoration filling his gaze because this was Sherlock, his Sherlock, and this was real, was intimate.

***

"Alright?" John asked.

"More than," Sherlock murmured, looking at John sleepily. "I very much enjoyed that," he added, letting his eyes close. "You're not going to leave?"

"No," John said, oddly touched by how calm his closeness was apparently making Sherlock. "No. I'll stay." He tossed the crumpled tissues to the floor to make room for himself, spreading out a bit.

"I always thought participation in our earlier activities would have been more awkward," Sherlock said, opening his eyes for a moment. "But it was actually pleasant. Not just physically, but it _felt_...right."

"You built us up to that, I think, with the hugs and everything," John pointed out. "I mean, imagine if we'd stuck to my idea of intimacy. It would have been awkward enough that we probably wouldn't even be talking right now."

"Mm." Sherlock reached out and tugged John closer to his side with a soft gaze and an unguarded smile. "I think you're more open with your emotions when you cuddle," he commented.

"Yeah, well," John said in defense, "I'm feeling a bit odd right now, so don't get too used to it."

Sherlock ran a soothing hand over John's cheek. "I don't think I could; it's fascinating." He even sounded like he meant it.

John reddened a bit. "You flatterer, you," he said with a hint of real accusation.

"Oh, John," Sherlock said dismissively, "I wouldn't waste flattery on you."

John couldn't figure out quite how to take that, but before he could decide, Sherlock was already asleep.

John observed the soothing rise and fall of Sherlock's chest, enjoyed the slight scent of sweat and sex and shampoo lingering on him, appreciated the way Sherlock's large hand seemed to oddly fit with his own rather smallish one.

He almost wondered why he'd never cuddled like this before, just for cuddling's sake, and yet the answer seemed clear for the first time in his life: Intimacy required loyalty, and no one had ever demanded his loyalty like Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
